


mouthfuls of forever

by jennycaakes, MelikaElena



Series: love will be enough for us [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bonding, Fluff, Friendship, Healing, M/M, Miller's a Poetry Nerd, Poetry, Post-Break Up, Sharing a Bed, Smoking, baby part 2, this is just straight fluff, this is so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miller wants to do things the right way with Monty. Monty just wants to do Miller. More or less, they compromise.</p><p>Or, how Monty and Miller fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. February

**Author's Note:**

> So originally we decided that “tell me you’re with me so far” didn’t have enough Minty fluff (because there is never enough Minty Fluff in this world), and we wanted to show little snapshots of how Minty got together. These are set in between the majority of “tell me you’re with me so far” (which is set in January) and when Bryan came back (which is September). 
> 
> … It may have spiraled a little out of control. (J: sorry not sorry.) We honestly, especially Jenn, probably could’ve kept writing in this universe forever (M: and who knows, maybe we’ll be back!!!!! -- But not until Jenn comes back from camp, at least. J: wink wink)
> 
> Title modified from Clementine Von Radic's poem "Mouthful of Forevers"

****Monty frowns as Miller settles into the seat beside him. Miller tries to avoid his burning stare as he starts unloading his books from his bag, confused at why Monty looks so mad. Finally he turns to him, lifting his arm to wipe his forehead, and makes a face.

“What did I do now?” Miller asks.

“You’re sweaty,” Monty responds without pause.

Miller arches an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t come to class _sweaty_ , Nate. Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head and it’s clear, by the way his eyes sparkle, that he’s not _actually_ angry. Monty’s mouth starts to pull into a smile as he talks. “I’m trying to be decent here and not jump your bones and you’re making it really freaking hard, you know.”

Miller has to stop himself from laughing. “I went to the gym before class,” he tells him as he settles back in his seat. “Murphy works later and Bellamy won’t admit it but he still hates me going alone. So before class it was.” He pulls out his paperback and fingers for his most recent bookmark. “Would you like an invitation next time?”

“I’ve never been to the gym here,” Monty admits. “So unless they have a viewing station where I can sit back and prop my heels up, no, thank you.” Miller finally does laugh, the sound easing out of him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And with Monty, Miller realizes, maybe it is. “But you’re honestly killing me.”

“No gym before class,” Miller says with a nod. “Got it.”

“ _And_ you’re reading classic literature,” Monty murmurs, his eyes studying the book in Miller’s hand. “Your entire existence is infuriating.”

“Well, I _am_ an English major--but, noted.”

It’s been a week since their lunch and things are… well, they’re not where Miller wants them to be, but they’re better than he’d ever expected after the complete disaster of Thirsty Thursday. As promised, Monty is giving him time and space, which is great, because that’s what Miller needs, and they both know it. But Miller _also_ really just wants to pin Monty against a fucking wall and listen as he moans his name. God, if he doesn’t stop wearing fucking v-necks Miller’s going to lose his mind.

“Listen,” Monty says, sliding his foot to bump Miller’s. “Clarke’s having a thing this weekend. Come with me?”

Miller swallows, but it’s a struggle because suddenly his throat is very dry. He hasn’t seen any of Monty’s friends since the night of the party, even though Bellamy’s been texting Clarke _a lot_ , and Miller can’t help but wonder what his reputation is amongst them. It probably isn’t The Best.

“Another party?” he asks.

“Not really,” Monty says, waving his hand. “More like a hangout. Turns out we have a lot of mutual friends.” A smile graces Monty’s face. “I want to meet Mom,” he says. Miller tries not to groan. They really have to stop calling Bellamy that. “And Murphy.”

“Trust me,” Miller murmurs. “You do _not_ want to meet Murphy.”

“Okay,” Monty says, “you’re right. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just want to spend some more time with you outside of this lecture hall.”

Miller has a quip on the tip of his tongue, but turning to look at Monty, finding him both hopeful and sincere, causes Miller to swallow it. He dips his head into a nod and feel his chest grow warm at the way Monty’s smile widens. “Just text me,” Miller says softly. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

Hanging out with Monty is something that Miller finds he enjoys a lot, which isn’t a surprise. He expected to enjoy hanging out with Monty, but it’s so easy and so natural that it simply astounds Miller that things can be like this.

They find time to meet up in the middle of the day, during the week, whenever. And there’s never any pressure there. Typically another one of their friends is also there, almost like a buffer, but this afternoon is different.

They’re at the cafe on campus and Miller’s already received his coffee, stationed at a small table in the back. Octavia was supposed to be with them now (Miller thinks that Clarke might’ve set up a rotation so Monty and Miller aren’t ever alone together--he wouldn’t put it past her, given her obsession with schedules), but Lincoln had a rough day and Octavia cancelled on them so she could take him to lunch. Miller’s sitting now, blowing on the coffee in his mug, watching Monty as he waits for them to make his tea.

He’s happy.

It’s cold outside and things between them are slow moving, but Miller’s happy. He likes getting to know Monty and he likes when he can make Monty smile and he likes _Monty_. Miller’s happy.

Sometimes he’ll suddenly ache, as though someone’s punched him in the stomach. A fear so cold and demobilizing will freeze him. Anxiety will whisper in his ear. _Alone, alone, alone. You’re going to be alone. He’ll leave you like Bryan did. You’re destined to end up alone_. But then Monty’s there, smiling laughing, and Miller swallows the fear in one big gulp.

He’s watching Monty, now, who’s finally received his mug. Monty thanks the worker brightly, sincerely, and turns to find Miller at the table. Monty hurries over, careful not to spill his drink, before sitting across from him.

“It’s so weird to not have adult supervision,” Monty says, lowering the mug to the table with a smile. Miller laughs, because it is. Part of him doesn’t mind that someone’s always tagging along with them; it helps Miller get to know them, these people who are important to Monty, and for them to get to know Miller, and even, when there are people from both their friend groups hanging around, for them to get to know each other: it seems that the merging of his and Monty’s friend groups is inevitable and unstoppable. Like Monty and Miller, their friend groups clicked almost instantly, and sometimes it’s as though they’ve always been friends. But Miller wants to be alone with Monty, too, like this, in public, without someone else prying in. “We can talk trash about whoever we want.”

“You don’t talk trash,” Miller says with a laugh.

Monty grins. “No, but I get the feeling you’re a gossip.” Miller laughs again, shaking his head at Monty without looking directly at him. “How’re you, though?” Monty asks. “Really?”

They text daily. Literally all the time. Miller will get texts at two in the morning from Monty when he’s _pretty sure_ he’s just discovered a new protein within another protein, and Miller will text him when he wakes up for his six am run, and Monty will text when he overhears a hilarious conversation that must be shared, and Miller will text him when he forgets what their geology homework is just for an excuse to talk to him. They’re always texting. Monty must have some sort of sixth sense, too, because he always texts Miller right when his worry gets to be a little too loud.

But sitting across from him at the university cafe, actually talking to him alone, it feels more important.

“I’m okay,” Miller says. “I’ve got a paper due tomorrow I should’ve started a week ago, but I do my best work when the deadline is breathing down my neck.”

“Kinky.” Miller snorts, and Monty grins.

They talk easily for a while, sipping at their drinks and trying one another’s and making suggestions for the next time they get to the cafe, and it just feels right. It’s easy. And Miller can say with certainty that, despite whatever undertones are there, he and Monty Green are friends.

Their cups are nearly empty when Monty shifts a little awkwardly, and the room seems to drop a few degrees. “I have to tell you something,” Monty says, and Miller nods immediately. “I just, I don’t know how you’ll…”

“Monty,” Miller fills in the silence, partly because the silence is terrifying. Maybe Monty doesn’t want to do this anymore, and that thought is strikingly horrible. Miller has to restrain himself from reaching out and grabbing Monty’s hand because _they’re going slow._  And hand holding, despite the fact that Miller _really likes holding hands_ , is out of the question. “You can tell me anything,” Miller says. And he means that.

“I’m bisexual,” Monty says. Miller blinks. “The last guy I dated--when I told him, he totally freaked out and ended it. And if--I just wanted to tell you now.”

“Monty.” The relief Miller feels at Monty’s words is so visceral he nearly _shudders_. Yet Monty can’t seem to tell, keeps talking in nervousness.

“Before things got too serious, you know?” Monty carries on. “Lost my virginity to one of my best friends from home. It was--I mean, she’s great. I adore her. But it wasn’t _the best_ , it was just a thing, and…” he’s rambling and Miller can’t stop the grin that stretches across his face. Monty pauses, finally, surprised. “You don’t care?”

“Jesus, of course not.”

“I lean towards guys, typically. Actually, I’m probably pansexual. I just really like good looking people who can make me smile.” Miller presses his lips tightly together to stop his smile from splitting his cheeks in half. “It’s just easier to say bi, half the world doesn’t know what pan means. But--”

“ _Monty_ ,” Miller stops him again. “That’s--it’s fine, that’s not a--that doesn’t bother me.”

Monty seems to exhale the breath he’d been holding in. “Not at all?”

“Nope.” Monty sighs again, loudly and with so much feeling that his shoulders dip. “Someone ended things with you because of it?” Miller asks, and Monty nods slightly. “That’s fucked up.”

“It was a while ago,” Monty says dismissively, waving his hand as though it’s not a big deal at all. And maybe it isn’t. But Miller knows (very well) how much breakups can hurt, especially for reasons that don’t feel legitimate. “Um, it’s also why Clarke is so protective of me, too. Why all of them are, really. I just didn’t want that to come up in the middle of… this.”

Miller nods and smiles. God, he wants to hold Monty’s hand. It’s there on the table basically begging to be held. _Slow, slow, slow_. “I thought you were going to say this wasn’t working,” Miller admits.

A laugh so brilliant and warm escapes Monty and Miller’s smile grows again. Monty’s hand covers Miller’s and the world seems to press pause, just for a moment. It’s almost as though they’re on the same wavelength. “Yeah, right,” Monty says. Miller feels infinitely warmth, sparks dancing up his arm from where Monty’s touching him casually. “After all this build-up? You’re not shaking me anytime soon, Nathan Miller.”  

“Good,” Miller exhales. “I wouldn’t want to.”


	2. March

“Okay,” Monty says one afternoon at lunch. “I’m ready.” Miller frowns at him, lifting another fry to his mouth as he waits for Monty to elaborate. “Show me a picture of this dude.”

Miller nearly chokes. “What?”

“I’ve been intentionally avoiding looking for him,” Monty says. “Because it would be so easy to find him. But I get distracted and would’ve ended up finding prom pictures of you two or something and that’s too much so I just didn’t look at all.” He lowers his hands to the table and looks squarely at Miller. “Show me a picture of Bryan.”

Miller looks at him for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous,” Miller says to him. “You know that?”

“Whatever,” Monty says back. “I want to see.”

Miller wipes his hands free of salt from his food and digs into his pocket for his phone. Monty looks uncharacteristically nervous and Miller nudges him under the table. “Why’re you stressing out so much?” Miller asks as he fingers through his old photos. He tried deleting most of the pictures he and Bryan have together but Bryan was such a huge part of his life that he couldn’t get rid of all of them. He doesn’t _look_ at them anymore, not like right after the break-up, but he still has them. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

Monty’s lips pull into a smile. “Shut up,” he says. “I’ve heard this guy is like--” Monty stops talking as Miller slides his phone over the table to him. His mouth falls open. “Oh my _God_ , you’re kidding,” Monty says with a frown, flipping to the next picture. He looks up at Miller and then back down at the screen. “Please tell me this is a joke. This is your ex?” Miller’s eyes flicker down to his phone as he nods. “He’s like, a _solid_ ten.”

Miller rolls his eyes. “No, he’s not.”

“Maybe an eleven.”

“ _Monty_ ,” Miller says with a little huff. Miller’s not going to deny that Bryan’s attractive. Like, he dated him for years; he knows very well how attractive Bryan is. “When people fuck you over they lose like, twenty points on the scale.” Monty’s nose wrinkles as he continues paging through the phone. “Besides,” Miller says, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve got the best collarbones I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Monty’s nose un-wrinkles at that as his eyes flicker mischievously in Miller’s direction. “That so?” he asks before returning his gaze to the phone.

“And one of these days I’m going to give up on this waiting game bullshit we’re doing,” Miller continues, leaning backwards in his seat. Fucking _feelings_ and _ex-boyfriends_ , ruining everything. “Because I’m annoyingly attracted to you. It pisses me off.”

Monty lets out a laugh. “Being attracted to me pisses you off?”

“Yep.”

Monty flicks past another photo. “Hmm. Okay.” He shrugs a shoulder. “This guy’s still hot, though.”

“So are you.” Miller tries to not throw his hands up. “And it’s not a competition!”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then you’re winning,” Miller tells him. “Or _I’m_ winning because I get to look at you.”

“And they call _me_ a flirt,” Monty teases. But the smile on his face is pure so Miller knows he’s gotten through to him. And he means it. God, Miller could look at him forever. Especially like this, when he’s beaming and bright and comfortable in his own skin, his dimples prominent. “ _Jesus_ ,” Monty suddenly blurts.

Miller’s eyes drop to the screen and he feels heat crawling up his neck. His hand reaches for his phone back but Monty pulls the phone away so he can stare at the photo just a little big longer.

It’s not a dick pic (not that Miller hasn’t _taken_ any--thanks, Snapchat, for destroying the evidence), but Miller may or may not have gone through a phase where he took _a lot_ of shirtless photos. “Monty,” Miller tries, feeling the heat of embarrassment spreading to his chest as Monty’s eyes continue to widen at the photo. “I was in high school,” he adds.

“Do your hips still do the V thing?” Monty asks, still staring at the phone. “Wait--this was high school?” he asks, looking up at Miller again. “You work out like every day. Which means you’re probably like…” he trails off as his eyes go a little unfocused. “I have to get your shirt off.”

A laugh bubbles out of Miller. “ _Monty_ ,” he says warmly. “Give me my phone.”

“Hold on.” He taps a whole bunch of buttons and Miller hears the _dwoop_ of a message sent. Miller tries to frown as Monty hands the phone back, showing Miller that he just sent the photo to himself. “Sorry. I need a new background photo.”

Miller shakes his head at him with a little laugh. “I can send you a newer one,” he tells Monty, who grins in response.


	3. April

“No, this one,” Monty says, swatting Miller’s hand away to click on a different song.

They’re in Miller’s dorm room now, Miller stretched out on his bed on his stomach with Monty at his desk manning the computer. It’s close enough that Miller can stretch out from where he’s laying and reach Monty. Murphy’s either nice enough to give Miller and Monty their space, forgot that Miller said Monty was going to come over for a little bit today, or is somewhere with Emori. Either way, he’s not here, and Miller’s grateful.

The song that Monty’s selected is playing through Miller’s bluetooth speaker, loud enough for them to hear but not loud enough to be heard in the hallway, and Monty grins so widely that Miller struggles to look away.

“Do _not_ make fun of my music taste,” Miller says with a warning in his voice, but there’s a smile on his face so it doesn’t come off as threatening as he intends.

“I would _never_ ,” Monty says vehemently. He squints at Miller’s computer to read the name. “I’m a _big fan_ of this playlist of yours titled, and I quote, ‘Who Burned Down Alexandria.’” Miller huffs, sinking down into his bed a little bit. “With four exclamation points,” he adds. “The Library of Alexandria?” Monty asks for confirmation, and Miller nods. “No wonder you and Bellamy are friends.”

The playlist is full of songs that are meant to help Miller focus while writing one of his endless papers for one of his many English classes, but a lot of the instrumental music that’s there is full of fire and angry rage. Because he gets _pissed_ thinking about the Library of Alexandria, like most people who have any decency _should_.

“So much literature was _lost forever_ ,” Miller stresses. “Why is this not upsetting to you?”

“Computer science major,” Monty says, jerking his thumb at himself. “Poetry nerd,” he says, gesturing to Miller.

Miller frowns. “What’s wrong with poetry?”

“Nothing, I just don’t speak it.”

“Everyone speaks poetry,” Miller points out. He reaches for his computer and clicks for another song in the playlist, one that’s lighter and softer and not as full of anger at the fact that years and years of knowledge have been ripped from them. “I’ve decided to convert you,” he says. “In due time. To enjoy poetry.”  Miller props himself up on his elbows and Monty turns to face him, waiting for him to carry on. “I like poetry,” Miller says simply.

Monty ducks his head a bit, that smile that makes Miller feel so warm still on his face. “I like that you like poetry,” Monty says. “I very much appreciate the fact that toxic masculinity has not claimed you, and you are willing to admit that you like poetry.”

“Then stop teasing me.”

“Three things,” Monty says, holding up three fingers. “One, I’m not teasing you.” Miller rolls his eyes and shakes his head, trying to fight the smile that Monty always, inevitably, brings to Miller’s face. “Two,” he continues, “I like teasing you. And three,” Monty finishes, “I’m looking forward to you converting me into a poetry lover.”

Miller wants to say something more about poetry, how sometimes someone else's words are so much better at getting across the message that Miller wants to convey, that Miller’s never been great with words but he _loves_ them, he loves the feeling that radiates through him after a good and powerful poem, how it makes him _feel_. But before he can even come up with the words to properly articulate _that_ , Monty returns to his Spotify and keeps scrolling. Miller decides not to interrupt; he’s not quite ready, anyway, for Monty to know just how much of a poetry nerd he is. Maybe one day, though.

“What else can we find on here…” Monty trails off with a hum.

Miller watches Monty and feels… satisfied. It’s April now and his fear about moving on, his worries about rushing into something with Monty, they’re not as loud as they used to be. He still gets stressed every now and then thinking about himself, wondering if he should take the time to find himself again before even considering dating _anyone_ , but then Monty’s there and texting him dumb quotes he overheard Clarke say to Bellamy or things he heard Jasper say to Maya, sending him pictures of whatever science thing he’s working on that he’s given a name like Tara and Philip, and making Miller feel _satisfied_. Another part of him worries that Monty wants more, that Monty wants this to move along faster than it is.

But then there are moments like this, with Monty sitting at his desk scrolling through his computer and laughing at his music taste with that fond smile of his on his face, and all of those worries are gone. Miller knows that the wants this. These moments. This teasing. And by the way Monty smiles at him he thinks Monty wants it, too.

“This playlist is titled ‘I Fucking Hate Murphy’,” Monty says, turning to look at Miller. Miller feels his face warm and shrugs slightly. “The first song is _Hello_ by Adele.”

“Murphy loves Adele.”

Monty arches an eyebrow. “Unsure if you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Miller says with a laugh. “That’s his playlist. I put it on if he’s in a piss poor mood.” Monty narrows his eyes at Miller slightly, looking overly curious, before he returns to scrolling.

“This one’s called ‘Octavia Could Kick My Ass’,” Monty says.

“Mm-hm.”

“‘Bellamy Bradbury Blake (aka B Cubed),’” Monty continues. “‘Raven Makes Things Go Boom.’” Monty turns back to Miller. “You have playlists for all your friends?” he asks, and Miller nods again. Monty keeps searching.

He clicks through the names and skims the songs, looking thoughtful. His eyes are bright as though he’s piecing something together. Finally he stops, turning back to Miller and propping his chin up in his hands, looking at Miller as though he’s something precious. Miller holds his gaze, waiting for him to speak. But every time Monty opens his mouth to begin, he stops again and shakes his head.

“What?” Miller finally asks.

Monty lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re just cute, is all,” Monty says.

Miller’s heart swells. “Do you want one?” he asks before realizing the words are even coming out of his mouth. Miller isn’t one to talk about himself, about his likes, his dislikes, his opinions, but he _is_ good at things like this, at sharing poetry and music. This is how he trusts; this is how he gives little pieces of himself away; this is how he shows people that he cares about them. And he desperately wants Monty to be part of that. Monty’s cheeks fill with pink and he ducks his head.

“I’m not--Nate,” he says softly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to make me a _playlist_. If you want to make me one, I mean, I’m not complaining. The last person to do that was Jasper, and it’s our smoking soundtrack. But don’t--don’t feel obligated because of… this.”

“This,” Miller echoes.

“Us, whatever this is.” He swallows, sitting up a little. Miller wants to put a name to _this_. To _us_. Monty seems to realize what he’s said, too, and sits up straighter as well. “I’m not going anywhere,” Monty says after a beat of silence. Miller doesn’t blink. “I’m not doing this with anyone else.”

“This,” Miller repeats a second time.

“Coffee dates, and playlists, and talks about the Library of Alexandria,” Monty answers. “Was there--I hope you didn’t…” Monty trails off and licks his lips. “I’m in this, Nate,” Monty finally says. “I thought you knew that.”

“I did. I _do_ ,” he corrects. “Me, too.” Monty nods a little, his mouth curving into a smile. “I want to make you a playlist,” Miller says. “It’ll… it’ll take a little bit. I don’t necessarily go looking for songs that fit, I add ones that already do. But it’ll happen.”

Monty’s smile breaks into a grin.

* * *

He’s been telling himself to ignore it the entire night, it seems, to calm down, to think of something else, to pay attention to all their friends, sprawled out in the living room of someone’s house, to have some goddamned self-control, but his body and his mind refuse to work in tandem, so here he is, hard as a rock, looking at Monty with dark eyes like Miller’s the predator and Monty’s the prey.

When he can’t stand it any longer, Miller pushes himself on his feet and strides out of the room without saying a thing, listening to the bright laughter of all of the friends in the living room. He strides to the kitchen and then eases his way out onto the back porch while commanding himself to take a deep breath. _This is ridiculous_ , he thinks. His entire body is humming with want and it feels so fucking pointless to keep ignoring it. He wants Monty. God, he wants Monty.

With that thought the door to the porch swings open and Monty steps outside, one of his eyebrows curiously high on his forehead. “Alright?” Monty asks, and Miller jerks his head into a nod. He turns to look out across the backyard again and grips the railing tightly. “Nate,” Monty says softly.

Miller spins back around to face him. “It’s driving me fucking insane,” he explodes, throwing his hands up. “I _want_ you, Monty. I keep thinking about that fucking night and fucking kissing you and--fuck, I want you.” Monty leans backwards against the sliding glass door and presses his lips tightly together. “Don’t do that,” Miller murmurs, turning away again.

“Do what?”

“Look so fucking smug.”

“I’m just glad I’m not the only one suffering, is all,” Monty practically hums. He pushes himself off of the door and walks in Miller’s direction. “You think I don’t think about it?” Monty asks, his voice low. “You think I don’t _want_ that? _You_?” He shakes his head and reaches out for Miller’s hands like he had the night of the party. First circling around his wrists but then moving to tangle their fingers together. “I thought we were on the same page there, Nate.” His thumb grazes Miller’s knuckle gently. “But if you’re not ready, there’s no chance in hell I’m going to rush into this. But every time you lick your lips…” Monty trails off with a rueful smile. “Which is a lot, by the way,” Monty adds, his voice less whimsical and instead very blunt, causing Miller to snort.

“What if I am?” Miller asks in a low voice. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

“I want to be.” More than anything. He wants to crush his mouth against Monty’s right now. It’s late April and the broken mess that he was in January when all of this started feels so far away. Screw all of their friends inside, he wants _this_ , this private moment here away from everyone else. This moment with Monty. Miller can’t stop looking at Monty’s lips, parted and wet and inviting. “What if we go slow?” Miller asks, completely aware of how needy his voice sounds and not caring. “But faster than this?”

“And what speed is that, exactly?” Monty muses.

Miller licks his lips. “I don’t know. Like, medium slow.” Monty laughs so brightly that the sound could burn out every dark thought Miller’s ever had. “I want to kiss you,” Miller says, watching Monty’s eyes grow dark. “I want to do it when we’re not drunk. I want to do it _now_.”

Monty starts shaking his head and Miller feels his chest get tight. But then Monty says, “I’m not going to stop you if you do,” and Miller feels the ground shattering beneath him.

He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, not after Monty says that, and their mouths meet in the middle. Monty’s hands unwind from Miller’s so he can get a hold on him and a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan of relief is low in Miller’s throat-- kissing Monty is just as amazing as he remembered it to be. One of Monty’s hands is gripping Miller’s shirt but the other is cupping Miller’s face, his thumb brushing across Miller’s stubble as though he’s entranced by the feel of it. Miller tips his chin down more to deepen the kiss and this time Monty groans, the sound reminiscent of that night but also something more fantastic than Miller can handle.

What starts as something hot and fast eases back into something tender with one gasp from Monty. Miller’s mind is stuck somewhere between being relieved and astounded that Monty’s just as good a kisser while they’re sober, and being overwhelmingly happy that a kiss with this boy can be more than pent up tension. That it can be this. Gentle. Monty’s soft lips moving against Miller’s, eager but careful. There’s something amazing about a kiss like this. It feels both new and familiar, like an adventure, but also like coming home.

The thought of that is so startling that Miller has to physically force himself away from Monty. It takes every ounce of willpower that he has to pull back. Miller places his heavy hands on Monty’s shoulders trying to convey without words that very sentiment, that ending this kiss is the last thing he wants to do.

Monty seems to understand though, nodding once as his eyes return from their glossy state. “Fuck,” Miller murmurs when Monty tips his chin back to take a deep breath, because _collarbones_ , and then he’s leaning in again with his lips gliding across Monty’s throat. “Fuck,” Miller breathes again between suckling on Monty’s neck as the boy in his hands gasps.

And then Monty’s hands are cupping both of Miller’s cheeks and he’s pulling him back up before Miller can leave a mark, kissing Miller’s forehead and cheeks and chin before rearing back again to force the smallest amount of distance between them. Miller’s fingers are either numb or so full of electricity that he can’t tell the difference. They ache to curl into Monty’s hair and tip his chin back so he can kiss him again, that height advantage coming in handy as he crowds Monty back against the railing. Miller’s face is warm from where Monty’s lips traveled. He could stay like this forever.

“I think that was faster than medium slow,” Monty manages, and Miller’s more than pleased at the hoarseness of his voice. “But, my God.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and Miller has to physically look away to stop himself from leaning in again. “That was--wow.”

“Sorry,” Miller murmurs, still trying to catch his own breath.

“Sorry?” Monty echoes. He steps toward Miller and tips his chin back slightly making it painfully easy for Miller to lean down again if he wants to. “I’m not,” Monty breathes. Miller’s mind is so full of so many thoughts that he can’t even keep up. He’d be content to stay here for the rest of the night, looking at Monty just like this. “We should get back in, though,” Monty finally continues. “Before _Mom_ comes after us.” Miller rolls his eyes but a smile finds his face regardless.

Monty reaches for Miller’s hand, tangling their fingers together again before pulling him inside. They head straight back for the couch they’d been sitting on earlier and Monty doesn’t let go of Miller’s hand, in fact he actually moves Miller’s arm so it’s draped around Monty’s shoulder. _Too fast_ , Miller thinks, but then again they did just kind of make out on the back porch. Also Monty’s leaning into him, which is warm and comforting despite the daggers that Clarke’s glaring in Miller’s direction and the skepticism that’s rolling off of Jasper in waves.

Miller rubs his thumb in a circle on Monty’s shoulder as he sighs softly, trying to focus on the conversation that Bellamy and Wells are having instead of the calculating look in Clarke’s eyes.

“I’m _serious_ ,” Wells is saying, gesturing to Clarke. “She’s a total dad.”

Clarke whirls around then, frowning at her friend. “Don’t start that again,” Clarke says.

“It’s just too good to be true,” Bellamy says as he shakes his head at Wells. “You did _not_ call Clarke _Dad_.”

Jasper finally tears his gaze from Monty and Miller too. “Oh, no, we definitely did,” Jasper says. “Still do. Clarke makes awful dad-jokes that aren’t funny to anyone but her. And she’s somehow both too emotionally invested in all of us and too emotionally distant to be a mom. It’s incredible.”

“Dad,” Wells agrees. Then he points to Bellamy. “Mom,” he says.

“When’s the wedding?” Murphy quips. “I call being the flower girl, if we’re fucking up gender roles as it is.”

Both Octavia and Raven’s hands shoot in the air as they simultaneously blurt, “Best man!”

“You’d be bridesmaids,” Miller murmurs from the couch, his thumb still rubbing circles on Monty’s shoulder. “If we’re Team Mom, we’re the ladies.”

“But we’re fucking up gender roles,” Murphy reminds him.

“I’m confused,” Maya admits. “Who’s getting married again?”

“No one’s getting married,” Clarke huffs. Bellamy looks particularly red as he shakes his head at his friends. “Unless Jasper’s planning to propose soon,” she carries on (diverting the subject from her and Bellamy, Miller notices) as she gestures to the two of them. “Which wouldn’t surprise me,” she adds.

Maya turns pink and Jasper has a dopey smile on his face that makes Miller want to smile, too. As though this insinuation of Jasper wanting to marry Maya isn’t that far of a stretch, despite how young they all still are. Miller tips his head to look over at Monty, who’s grinning at his best friend so wonderfully that Miller struggles to remind himself not to stare. But God, Miller wants that. He thought he _had_ that, someone he could have a future with without any doubts or fears that it wasn’t going to work out. He thought he had _something_ with Bryan, something stronger than they really must’ve had considering it ended so quickly.

He’s not even _with_ Monty, not officially, not yet, but part of Miller is hoping to find that again. To find that with him. The hope for a future.

Monty must realize that Miller’s staring at him and he turns his head then, their eyes meeting briefly before Monty winks and turns away again. So often his winks are teasing but this was comforting. The way that Miller’s chest constricts with warmth is proof of that.

“Lincoln could be proposing to Octavia,” Raven says, waggling her eyebrows. Bellamy responds with a look so sharp that Miller can’t stop himself from snorting. “Just saying.”

“I’m not objecting,” Octavia says with a grin, stretching out in her stop.

“ _You’re not even twenty one,”_ Bellamy says tersely. “You can’t legally get a drink!”

“Being in love has nothing to do with alcohol consumption,” Octavia says.

“I beg to differ,” Murphy chimes.

“I’m telling Emori you said that,” Raven responds.

“So,” Jasper says suddenly. His voice is loud, and it’s enough to pull Miller’s gaze from Monty. “You two are like a thing, then,” he says, gesturing to Monty and Miller sitting together.

“I’d say so,” Monty says.

The room is quiet then, but not the awkward kind. “You’re still in post-break-up mode,” Clarke says to Miller from where she’s seated by Bellamy.

“We’re not getting _married,_ Dad,” Monty says, causing Wells and Bellamy to snort at the same time. “We’re going slow,” he adds, sounding almost offended. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you completely,” Clarke says. “ _He’s_ the one I’m worried about.”  

Miller wrinkles his nose. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Griffin,” Miller mutters, but he knows, after how he acted in January, that he deserves it, at least a little bit.

“Post-break-up people do stupid things,” Clarke says.

“That’s true,” Wells says dryly. “When Lexa broke up with you for her ex you got Monty to hack into her Instagram and change all of the posts to pictures of assless chaps.”

Miller arches his eyebrow at this for a few reasons: the first being that Clarke got broken up with for someone else, which means she must be intimately familiar with Miller’s own feelings; the second being that Wells felt that he needed to add this piece of information to balance things out--like he’s on Miller’s side; and lastly, that Monty can hack into someone’s Instagram and change all of their photos.

Miller turns to Monty then, eager to change the subject. “You hacked into someone’s Instagram and changed all their photos?”

“Clarke asked,” Monty says with a shrug. “I don’t do it for _fun_. Usually.”

“You can _do_ that?” Miller asks, his voice verging on impressed.

“I _told you_ I knew someone that could do that,” Raven says from across the room. “Wait--” she holds up her hands. “I could’ve introduced you two!”

“Rocks for Jocks beat you to the punch,” Monty says with a smile.

“I just don’t want anyone getting hurt,” Clarke says, trying to get the topic back to Monty and Miller. “Okay?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Monty says with a little laugh, turning back to Miller. He lifts his hand and pokes Miller’s chin and Miller leans away with a frown. “Does this look like the face of someone who could hurt a fly?”

Octavia snorts.

“Um, _yes,_ ” Jasper answers. “It does.”

“Does not,” Monty responds.

“ _Stop_ that,” Miller murmurs when Monty pokes him another time.

“Well _I_ trust you, babe,” Jasper says as he stretches out on the floor. “And if you trust Too Tough for Feelings Dude, then that’s what matters.”

“Too tough for feelings?” Miller echoes.

“Miller has like, more feelings than the average person,” Octavia says. “That’s an incorrect name. When he’s drunk and in the right mood, he’ll spout off entire romantic poems and Shakespearean monologues--from _memory_.”

“What about Giant Arms and Long Eyelashes Dude.”

“Yes,” Raven agrees.

Clarke squints, and then, just a for moment, looks at Bellamy. “Nah,” she decides, just as Miller scoffs and says, emphatically, “ _No._ ”  

“Whatever,” Jasper says, waving his hand. But then he turns to Miller. “You're like, probably a lot stronger than me,” Jasper says as he stares Miller down. “Gym junkie for real, or whatever. But if you hurt Monty, I will try my hardest to beat you up.” Miller can feel Monty watching the interaction but he doesn't turn to look at him. “I'll probably fail,” Jasper continues. “But I'll try, dammit! So don’t make me.”

“Guys,” Miller says, addressing the room. “I like Monty,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically low. Did they _have_ to do this in a group setting? “I have no plans to hurt him. Okay?” Across the room Bellamy’s smiling. His eyes are fond as he looks at Miller, his arm still draped over Monty’s shoulder. Even Clarke appears to have softened a little bit. “My ex fucked me over,” Miller carries on. “And I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone like how he hurt me. But if he hadn’t then we probably wouldn’t be here, so.”

“Hear hear,” Raven says, lifting her drink in their direction.

“Great, now can we stop being so fucking cheesy?” Murphy mutters.

“You’re the one who wants to be a flower girl,” Octavia says, nudging him with her elbow.

Monty settles more against Miller’s chest as the attention moves away from them and Miller lets out a soft breath. “I like you, too,” Monty murmurs in a voice so quiet only Miller can hear.

“Good to know,” Miller murmurs back.


	4. May

****It’s so light that he almost doesn’t feel it, but Miller’s never been a heavy sleeper, so when he feels something on his face, his first instinct is to brush it away.

“Ow.”

Blearily, Miller’s eyes open, and for a moment he doesn’t remember where he is, but then he feels the sweltering heat that is Monty and Jasper’s dorm room and remembers: Monty invited him over for a night of “Netflix and chill… sans chill, or rather, I guess, literal chill, not like, sex-chill.”

“Monty, I get it,” Miller had said with a slight smile. “I’ll bring snacks, okay?”

“Great,” Monty responded with a grin. “Bring some of those big ass candy bars, if you can. King sized. I really like chocolate.”

Miller gave him a look, but said nothing. Monty’s grin only widened and he winked cheekily at him.

It sounded like the perfect Friday night in, anyway-- Miller had had three finals that week and was basically dead on his feet and Monty wasn’t doing much better. A half-hour into the movie they were watching Miller fell asleep, only to be awakened by a light, almost gossamer touch on his cheek bones.

“What the hell?” Miller mutters.

“Hey, watch it,” protests Monty with a laugh. “That’s my beautiful face you’re swatting at.”

“What’s going on?” Miller slurs. “What was on _my_ face?” He blinks rapidly to dispel the sleep and when his sight focuses he can see Monty’s face, flushed and embarrassed. “Monty?”

“I, uh…” Monty rubs the back of his neck. “It was me.”

“Huh?”

“You just…” he gives Miller a sheepish grin. “You just have such nice _eyelashes_. I wanted to see if they were as soft as they looked.”

Miller feels something inside of him melt. Most of the time Monty is an impenetrable force of humor, sass, and charm, constantly winking and flirting with Miller. He knows Monty has a softer side, too, is vulnerable and sensitive at heart, but there’s something so incredibly _tender_ about his admission that Miller can’t help but gather him into his arms and hold him tightly. Monty’s arms come around him and hold on.

It feels like magic, and Miller knows he’ll remember this night for a long time, as inconsequential as it began: the two of them, wrapped in each other’s arms on Monty’s narrow dorm bed, warm and safe and loved, so loved.

“All I want,” Miller says softly, impulsively, into Monty’s ear, “is a room up there and you in it.”

Monty leans back, dark eyes glittering with curiosity and joy. “That’s poetic,” he says. “Is this what you meant by being a poetry fan? Did you write that?”

Miller shakes his head. “I didn’t write it,” he says. “But yeah, I’m a fan.”

“And you just…” Monty motions to Miller’s head, “have, what? Anthologies of poetry in your head?”

Miller shrugs. _Yes_. “Bits and pieces.”

“What a genius,” Monty murmurs, mouth curving into a smile. “And what’s the poem you just quoted me?”

“ _Steps_ ,” Miller says. “By Frank O’Hara.”

“Nathan Miller,” Monty’s smile grows wider in appreciation. “Secret romantic, poet at heart. Who would’ve thought?”

Miller wills himself not to blush. He used to quote poetry, sometimes, to Bryan, in soft moments like these, but he knows he’ll never quote something to Monty that he did to Bryan. No matter how much Bryan hurt him, some things are sacred, like poetry and dark rooms with boys who make something inside of you bloom.

And Miller knows that whatever he quotes to Monty he won’t say to another soul, either.

After a while, Miller looks at Monty’s laptop, dark. “I suppose I’ve missed the movie,” he says, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Monty asks. “Just stay here. Jasper’s with Maya for the night.”

Miller swings his gaze back to Monty. “What?”

Monty flushes, but holds his eyes. “Seriously, it’s fine. Netflix and literal-chill, remember? Literal sleep.”

“You sure it’s okay if I crash here?” Miller asks through a yawn, barely catching Monty’s nod. “I can move to the futon,” he says. Because he doesn’t want Monty to think that he’s trying to make any moves. Not that he doesn’t want to make moves. Because he does. Lots of moves. But he’s tired, and they said they’d wait, and Miller’s willing to wait.

“No, I’ll go,” Monty says.

“What? No. This is your bed.”

“Nate,” Monty says with a little laugh. “You’re like, already asleep. I really don’t mind.”

“I do.” Miller starts gathering the energy to climb out of bed but Monty wraps his hand around his wrist, holding him down. “ _Monty_.”

“How about we both stay?” Monty asks. The question lingers in the air. “I mean, we’re just sleeping.” But sleeping side-by-side feels vastly intimate, maybe more intimate than kissing. And Miller wants to say this, that curling up next to Monty feels like skipping a lot of steps they swore that they’d take, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Because he’s sleepy and the idea of Monty cuddling up next to him is infinitely appealing. “I won’t try anything,” Monty says.

“I know,” Miller responds. “Me neither.” He doesn’t even feel like it, honestly. It wouldn’t feel right, tonight.

“I know,” Monty echoes. Slowly he uncoils his hand around Miller’s wrist, and Miller sinks back into the pillows.

Monty offers him a shy smile, and Miller tries to think of the last time he’s seen Monty look shy, if ever. Miller’s chest blooms with warmth as he closes his eyes, burying himself into Monty’s blankets.

The next morning, Miller wakes up alone. Surprised at the deepness of his sleep and disappointed that Monty’s not there, he brightens when he sees a note from Monty on the pillow next to him.

In his scrawl:

_“A small truth: you move me more in a moment than the earth moves in a year.”_

_Getting breakfast. Be back soon._

Miller folds the note up carefully, gropes for his wallet on Monty’s night stand, and carefully puts it in. Miller can’t help but grin stupidly, feeling light and hopeful and at peace. He wonders how Monty knows about Salma Deera, but then decides it doesn’t matter if he looked it up on the internet or knew it by heart: Monty’s note is like a confirmation, a physical embodiment of their relationship--because Miller knows that he’s ready, now, that they will become a They sooner rather than later--what they have is something precious; what they have is something true.


	5. June

“Oh, c’mon,” Miller says from where he’s stretched out on Clarke’s couch. “Han _totally_ shot first, that’s not even a question.”

Jasper across the room taps his nose in thoughtful consider. “The remastered version,” Jasper starts, but Monty tosses a pillow at him to shut him up.

“We don’t _talk_ about the remastered version,” Monty say, causing Jasper to roll his eyes. “I agree,” Monty says, turning to Miller. He’s on the other side of the couch, Miller’s feet propped up on his lap. “Why wouldn’t Han shoot first? Because suddenly he has morals? Not likely. He’s a _rebel_.”

“You’re both such fucking nerds,” Raven says from where she’s perched by the window.

“But like,” Wells starts from beside her. “Greedo wanted the reward.”

“Oh, not you, too,” Raven says with a little sigh. “Greedo’s dead either way! It doesn’t matter!”

“It does so,” Monty says, pointing at her.

“That reminds me,” Miller says to Monty, his voice soft enough that only Monty can hear. “I finished your playlist last night, if you want to listen.” Monty opens his mouth and closes it, looking confused, and Miller feels slightly embarrassed. “We talked about it like forever ago?” Miller suggests, trying to bring back the memory for Monty.

“No, I, yeah,” he says with a nod. “I just--I didn’t know you were really making me one.” There isn’t really any shock in his voice, just quiet happiness and awe that allows Miller to breathe a sigh of relief.

Miller smiles. “I told you I would. I mean, uh, like I said, my playlists are kind of continuous. So I’ll probably keep adding. But it’s got a good amount of songs in it now, and. Yeah.” Monty smiles back and Miller has to look away to keep from feeling too warm.

“Why did this conversation remind you of my playlist?” Monty asks curiously.

Miller scans the room, finding their friends still hooked into their debate, and says to Monty, “It’s got the Cantina song in it.”

Monty laughs brightly. “Yeah?” Miller nods, but he can’t look at Monty, he can’t. He’s just too bright, too warm, and Miller’s chest feels like it’s going to erupt from the intensity of the boy beside him. So instead he swings his feet off of Monty’s lap and pushes himself off the couch. “Where’re you going?” Monty asks.

“Get something to drink,” Miller tells him. He needs a second to cool off, take a deep breath, and then he’ll be back. Jasper starts talking about the remastered version of A New Hope again and the room collectively groans as opinions are shot back and forth. Miller walks into the kitchen and tugs open the fridge to grab a beer, smiling when he catches Clarke and Bellamy sitting on the back porch laughing about something together. When he spins to go back into the living room he finds Monty walking toward him. “Still talking about Star Wars?” he asks.

“Always,” Monty confirms. He strides in Miller’s direction purposefully, reaching up and tugging Miller down to his level. Miller groans when Monty’s mouth meets his, warm and intentional, for a quick kiss. “Mm,” Monty hums when he pulls back but Miller follows, pinning his forehead to Monty’s.

Miller’s thrown, for a moment. He licks his lips. He recognizes the way his heart is beating inside of his chest. “What was that for?” Miller finally murmurs, coming back to himself from the shock of kissing him. It’s been so long since they last kissed, months, and Miller craves it like the day craves the night. Miller licks his lips another time and Monty watches the motion and it makes Miller feel dangerous.

“Because I wanted to,” Monty says. Miller dips in again, eager to taste Monty again, and thankfully Monty presses back. Miller sets the beer in his hand down so he can cup Monty’s cheeks as he crowds him against the counter. When their hips meet Monty groans and Miller forces himself away. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re right,” Monty says breathlessly. He tips his head back and to the side as though purposefully exposing his pale neck and his delightful fucking collarbone to Miller. “We should stop. But like,” Monty turns back to look at him. “What if instead, we just didn’t stop?”

Miller’s inclined to agree. But, “We said we wouldn’t rush. Medium slow, remember?”

Monty wrinkles his nose and makes a noise of disagreement. “You’re right, you’re right.” But still his hands slide around Miller’s waist. “But the playlist… and… just stop _looking_ at me like that.”

Miller tries to stop himself from grinning and fails. “Like what?”

“Like you’re looking at me right now,” Monty says.

Miller bends down slightly, his lips closer to Monty’s. “How’s that?”

“You’re honest to God going to kill me,” Monty breathes before arching his neck and kissing Miller another time. “It’s been five months,” he says lowly. “Almost six since he…” since Bryan ended things. Monty’s been counting months. He’s been waiting, Miller realizes, just as Miller has. He really _wants_ this. Him, Miller, as his boyfriend. Monty licks his lips. “I mean, we’ve been going slow,” Monty says. It’s clear in the way that he’s choosing his words that Monty doesn’t want to seem pushy. But there’s also that hitch in his voice, that indication that he wants more. “Haven’t we?”

“Sometimes it feels too slow,” Miller murmurs back. As hard as he tries to look somewhere other than Monty’s mouth, he’s failing miraculously. They’ve waited long enough. Haven’t they? Miller hasn’t thought about Bryan in weeks, not like he used to. And normally it’s a passing thought. Something like, _how is it possible to have existed without Monty in my life?_ Or, _if it wasn’t for those weeks of suffering from him then I wouldn’t be here now_. Now that they’re not at school, they have to put in even more effort to see each other. They and their friends don’t live that far from each other, and some of them are living in the university district for the summer, so most weekends they’ll all leave their parents’ houses and summer jobs and congregate back there. Miller’s glad that the commute is a manageable distance from his house; he misses Monty, so much. All the time. They’ve definitely waited long enough. “Come here,” Miller rasps.

And then they’re kissing again, Miller’s hands wrapped around Monty’s waist while Monty’s hands are cupping his cheeks. So much of this. God, Miller wants so much of this. He jerks his hips forward and sighs in response to Monty’s high-pitched whine. Miller’s fingers curl into Monty’s shirt as Monty’s hand curves across Miller’s jaw, fingers teasing the back of his neck. _More, more, more_. Miller’s hands start to wander, unable to settle in one place, wanting to feel _all_ of Monty.

Somewhere the sound of whistling breaks through the haze of Miller’s mind and he and Monty finally part, turning to find Wells and Raven standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“About time,” Wells says brightly. “Murphy wanted to start making bets.”

Miller’s thoughts are still muddled but he has enough sense in him to scoff.

“I took him up on that bet,” Raven says as she strides past them to get to the fridge. “I think I just won.”

* * *

Miller isn’t sure why the second the door is shut that he feels nervous. They’re staying at Clarke’s house tonight, up in one of the guest rooms she lets her friends stay in after they all spend the weekend together, and usually they’re crowded with at least three or four people. Tonight it’s just the two of them. There’s no reason for him to be nervous. They spent the past half hour making out. But now it’s just the two of them and Miller’s not sure what he wants to say. There’s just _so much_. There’s so much he wants to say now that they’re here, that they’ve made it to this moment.

“Everything okay?” Monty asks.

Miller leans back against the door and nods his head. “Yeah.”

“You don’t look so sure,” Monty says slowly, stepping in his direction. He reaches out, his hands sliding around Miller’s hips, and Miller’s breath catches in his throat. “Change your mind?”

“Unlikely,” Miller murmurs.

Monty steps forward still, crowding Miller against his door. “Good,” Monty breathes. Miller jerks his head into a nod as though that’s what he wants to say too. _Good_. This is good. This is everything. “Nate,” Monty says.

“Monty.”

One of Monty’s hands stays wrapped around Miller’s waist and the other lifts to cup Miller’s cheek. “I trust you entirely,” Monty says quietly. “But I kind of jumped you tonight. Are you sure that you’re ready? You’re completely sure.”

“Completely,” Miller answers, finding his voice. “Entirely.”

Monty still doesn’t look sure. “Listen,” he says, with a bit of urgency. “You know I want this, I want _us_ , but if it doesn’t happen now… if you still need more time, I’m not lying when I say that I’m okay with it. Nate. You have to know--I’m not going anywhere.”

Nate feels his chest expand, as though his heart can’t be contained. “Monty--”

But Monty can’t seem to stop, needs to make sure that Miller _hears_ him. “Do I want to be your boyfriend? Of course. But I’m also your friend. When I was flirting with you in Geology, even if you never became single, I still would’ve wanted to be friends. I had a good feeling about you. So you should know that I care about you so much and that I’m not going to leave you. Do you understand?”

Miller realizes what Monty’s trying to tell him: _I’m not Bryan. I won’t leave._ Because when Bryan and Miller broke up, Miller didn’t just lose his boyfriend, he lost his best friend. And Monty is telling him that, no matter what happened, he won’t lose his friendship.

Even if he was sure before, Miller’s decision is only further cemented by Monty’s commitment.

He leans in then, kissing Monty gently, feeling overwhelmed. His feelings can’t be properly expressed with words. Even quoting someone else just can’t compare. “I just--I’ve been thinking about this for what feels like forever. To finally _be_ here...” Monty smiles against Miller’s mouth and then they kiss again, Monty stepping close enough that their hips align. Miller’s hands wrap around Monty’s sides, pulling him the rest of the way in. “Monty, you’re so…” he trails off, not sure what he wants to say.

No, that’s not true. He knows what he wants to say. He just isn’t sure how. His mind is so blissfully blank he can’t even think of a poem to describe this.

“I’ve thought about this, too,” Monty whispers. Miller closes his eyes so he can just feel. So he can feel Monty’s warm breath against his skin, so he can feel Monty under his hands. Every time their lips brush Miller feels as though he’s melting. “I was going out of my mind,” Monty breathes. “Every time I’d look at you I just thought I was going to lose it.”

Miller kisses him again very intentionally, one of his hands cupping Monty’s cheek like Monty’s doing to him before tangling in Monty’s hair. Miller wants a million moments like this, and then a million more. He never thought he’d feel like this again, this _complete_ and also this completely at ease. Like the world has been holding in deep breath and has finally exhaled everything perfectly into place.

Monty’s hands drop, both of them curling fingers through Miller’s belt loops as he tugs him gently backwards. “Let’s go to bed,” Monty says as he pulls and Miller nods. They shed their shirts, their pants, leaving their boxers on before climbing into bed together. Monty’s laying down first and Miller takes his time, settling in against him. He presses warm kisses to Monty’s neck, across his collarbone, a few more to his chest. “Feeling greedy?” Monty sighs, happiness in his voice.

“Lucky,” Miller corrects gently before kissing the hollow of Monty’s throat, right between his collarbones. Monty sighs again and Miller wraps his arms around him, his hand seeking out Monty’s so he can lace their fingers together tightly.

They fall asleep twined together, and wake up just the same.


	6. July

****Miller played a lot of sports in high school, but none of them really stuck. He liked swinging things (baseball) but he also liked throwing things (football) and kicking things (soccer) and punching things (boxing). But Miller finds out in college that he also really likes volleyball, and that he’s pretty good at it.

They’re at Raven’s old family friend’s house now who has a pretty big home and a _massive_ backyard. Raven’s dogsitting and the guy doesn’t quite care if she brought friends over, so they all pile into a car and take the drive out. “As long as we chip in some money,” Raven says as they arrive, “Sinclair doesn’t mind if we take some alcohol.”

“You should’ve started with that,” Murphy says, rushing into the house to find the liquor cabinet.

The backyard has a hot tub that overflows into a pool with a diving board and a volleyball net strung up in the part with the least amount of trees. “How do you know this guy anyway?” Clarke asks as they push the gate open. Jasper and Monty are already sprinting to the pool, yanking off their clothes as they go.

“He worked with my high school on getting internships for kids,” Raven says, making sure the gate gets pulled shut. “Got me a real nice summer job working with some mechanics, we keep in touch.”

“We brought a ball,” Miller asks, gesturing toward the net, “right?”

“When do we go anywhere without one?” Bellamy responds.

It’s a hot day in early July and Miller doesn’t remember the last time he’s sweat so much. He and Bellamy play against Raven and Octavia for a while before Clarke joins them, and Murphy’s already drunk on some rum that he found but he joins Miller and Bellamy’s team, too.

Monty wolf-whistles when Miller finally pulls off his shirt and all of their friends grin so broadly that Miller’s surprised no one jumps up to tease them about it.

It’s a pretty fairly matched game and the girls win, but needing to cool off Miller passes on immediately starting up another game.

“I’ll get the rum,” Murphy says before making his way back inside. Because apparently the best way to play volleyball is to get drunk before doing it. Miller strides over to the pool where Maya’s swimming laps against Jasper (and winning) and where Monty’s sitting with his feet in the water.

Miller lowers himself to the ground beside Monty and dips his feet in as well, bending over and pressing a kiss to Monty’s shoulder before stretching out on his palms. Monty tips his head to look at him with a cheeky grin and Miller holds his gaze.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re sweaty,” Monty says.

Miller rolls his eyes fondly. “This again?” he asks.

“I’m allowed to appreciate it now,” Monty says, nudging him with his elbow. “You should get in.”

“I’m working my way up to it.” Monty nudges him again, a little harder as though he’s pushing him forward. Miller sends him an even look. “Monty,” Miller says.

“Hm.” He nudges him another time. “What?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Monty echoes innocently. His eyes flicker over Miller’s shoulder for a brief moment and his smile gets even wider. “ _I_ would _never_ ,” Monty says. Miller doesn’t have a chance to look over his shoulder before heavy hands fall down on him and push, sending Miller into the deep-end. Miller surfaces with a gasp, turning around to find Bellamy and Monty laughing while sharing a high five. “Sorry, Nate,” Monty says with a grin.

“You’re the worst,” Miller says back, moving his hands forward to splash the pair of them. If it wasn’t for Miller the two probably wouldn’t even _know_ each other, and now they’re co-conspiring? How rude. “And _you_!” Miller says, focusing the splash in Bellamy’s direction.

“C’mon,” Bellamy says with a grin of his own. “Don’t act all betrayed.” He reaches up to pull off his shirt before jumping in beside Miller.

Miller ducks his head at the wave Bellamy creates and looks out across the backyard at his friends. They’ve merged seamlessly from two friend groups into one, and Miller feels a bubble of warmth in his chest at the realization. Clarke and Octavia are sitting side by side, holding their phones up to one another and laughing at something Miller can’t distinguish; Murphy and Lincoln are still by the volleyball net as Lincoln tries to show Murphy a different way to set (but Murphy’s drunk and it doesn’t really make an impact on him anyway); Raven’s toeing her way into the water down where Jasper and Maya have settled after their laps, motioning for Wells to join her.

Miller swims over to where Monty’s still got his feet in the water and tugs on his ankles, trying to fight off the smile that’s finding his face. “Gonna sit out?” Miller asks.

“Where I can watch my handsome boyfriend and his handsome best friend splash around?” Monty asks. “Um, yes.”

Miller laughs and tugs again, not enough to pull him in just enough to let Monty know he knows he’s teasing. Slightly. “Maybe you can call Clarke over,” Miller says. “It’ll give her an excuse to stare at Bellamy without, you know, staring at Bellamy.”

“You and I are on the same wavelength _always_ ,” Monty laughs.

It’s a perfect afternoon that bleeds into a perfect evening, the sky shifting from blue to orange as the sun begins to set. There’s no fire pit in Sinclair’s yard but there is one of those glass tables that Miller has a vivid memory of sitting around when he was younger, patio furniture with uncomfortably cushioned chairs smushed around so everyone can fit side by side.

Raven lets Sinclair’s dogs out and they run through the grass, nipping at fireflies that light up the area, and Monty settles into the seat beside Miller. He looks happy. Miller hopes that Monty’s as happy as Miller is. It’s not dark enough that they can’t see each other thanks to some porch lights and when Monty stretches his hand out on the table to Miller, Miller accepts it without even thinking.

Murphy makes a kissing noise and Miller flips him off with his freehand as Monty tightens their hands together. A few of their friends chuckle, but other than that there’s nothing, and Miller’s so fucking relieved for it, that Monty and Miller can exist together with their friends and there’s no awkwardness here, no sense that they’re A Couple while still being allowed to be a couple.

“Maya,” Monty says, nudging his phone in her direction. His voice is quiet as to not pull the conversation from their friends, but Maya looks over. “Can you take a picture?” he asks.

“Oh,” Miller murmurs, shocked that Monty wants this.

Maya brightens, “Of course!”

“Is that okay?” Monty asks, tipping his head back so he can look at Miller.

Everyone else is still in their own conversations, only Lincoln’s caught onto the situation and he’s politely smiling while looking elsewhere. “These chairs are massive,” Miller says to Monty. They’re sitting side by side but patio furniture is typically two sizes too big, so he feels super far away from Monty regardless. “It’ll look weird.”

“A problem that can be easily fixed,” Monty says. When he scoots out of his chair the conversation at the end of the table is put on pause, and when he climbs into the same seat at Miller there’s a little bit more laughter.

“Okay down there?” Clarke asks, her voice as bright as Maya’s had been.

“Just getting situated,” Monty calls back as Miller winds his arms around Monty’s waist. The chairs are big but not necessarily big enough for the two of them to sit super comfortably, so there’s a little bit more adjustment before it all works out. Monty sits between Miller’s legs, his back flat against Miller’s chest. “Good?” Monty asks.

“Mmmhm,” Miller hums, low and quiet in Monty’s ear. He kisses Monty’s temple softly and prepares to take a photo not realizing that Maya’s been going a little camera crazy and has been taking photos almost this whole time. Miller nestles with his chin on Monty’s shoulder and smiles in Maya’s direction. When Maya slides the phone back in their direction Miller buries himself back into Monty’s neck, kissing him along his jawline as he flips through the photos. “They turn out okay?” Miller asks.

“It’s a little dark,” Monty admits, “but I can edit some stuff and they should be fine.”

This is how summer nights should be spent, Miller thinks as he sucks hard enough to leave a bruise. “Today was good,” Miller whispers. He feels Monty’s cheeks curve into a smile and pulls back just a little. “Don’t you think?”

“I got to spend the day with my boyfriend and all of our best friends,” Monty says, tipping to look at him. “Today was _great_.”

Miller listens a little bit to the conversation down at the other end of the table, Raven insisting that frappuccinos aren’t _trashy_ while Bellamy scoffs loudly in response to which Clarke points out, “You love the cinnamon roll fraps, don’t be stupid.”

“They’re cute,” Monty says. “Bellamy and Clarke. Or, well, they will be when they figure it out.”

“We’re cuter,” Miller answers.

Monty lets out a breathy laugh, turning to look at Miller again. “You’re cuter,” Monty says.

Miller hides his smile in Monty’s neck. “Mm.” He kisses Monty’s jaw another time. “I was worried they’d make it weird,” he admits.

“What, you and me?” he asks, and Miller nods. “Instead you got me and your best friend teaming up to push you in the pool,” Monty teases. “Is that what you wanted?”

Miller’s still hiding his smile in Monty’s neck. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

* * *

While Clarke wasn’t the biggest fan of getting high, Jasper and Monty had enough close-calls in their dorm room that she finally told them they could smoke in her basement. She stayed upstairs most of the time, or on the couch, but she let the boys have their fun. They were much less likely to get caught in Clarke’s dark basement instead of the fifth floor of Agro Hall. It’s summer, anyway, and Clarke has a Real House to live in while Monty and Jasper don’t, so they always end up here regardless.

Miller’s there today, watching as Jasper pulls the bong from the closet in which it’s hidden in with a mischievous smile on his face. Monty’s to Miller’s left, his eyes bright and excited. Raven and Octavia are there, too, (which Bellamy does _not_ know about and will _never_ know about if it’s up to Octavia), because Jasper invited them in hopes to make their friend group a little closer after their successful day trip to Sinclair’s.

“Surprised you agreed to it,” Raven says, directing her statement to Miller. “Considering you’ve got a cop for a dad.”

“Shut up,” Miller murmurs. “I haven’t agreed to _anything_.”

“He’s just observing,” Monty says, waving his hand at Raven.

But Miller knows that isn’t true. He’s curious. And he’s shotgunned before, Murphy blowing smoke into his mouth after taking a hit so Miller could get the remnants of a high. He’s always wanted to try it out, see what the hype was about. In fact, he’s actually done a lot of reading about the benefits of marijuana and leans in favor of legalizing it. From a political standpoint. But experience helps, too.

“It’s an ice bong?” Octavia asks, her eyebrows high on her forehead as Jasper returns with a tray from the mini fridge in the corner. “Doesn’t that make it harder to smoke, or something?”

“No, it makes it smoother,” Monty says.

“I dated this guy once,” Octavia says, “Atom. We only smoked blunts because he said bongs were harder to do. Or something.”

“He’s a wimp,” Jasper says as he slips ice cubes into the holder. “Bongs get you _way_ higher than blunts. I mean, I’m not going to say _no_ to a blunt, but I wouldn’t _prefer_ a blunt.”

“I’m going to be blunt with you,” Monty says as he digs around his backpack for the gram he’d purchased. “Blunts suck.”

“Once you go bong you never go back,” Jasper agrees with a grin.

“We used to have really little ones,” Monty says after passing the baggie to Jasper to get everything ready. He holds his hands about six inches apart. “Beginners.”

“This is like, a foot and a half tall,” Raven says.

“This is nothing,” Jasper tells her. “You should see the stand-up ones.”

“Best high of my life,” Monty agrees.

There’s easy conversation as it all gets set up and it pauses when Jasper takes the first hit. He flips the lighter on at the bowl and breathes in through the mouthpiece for a while before removing the bowl and inhaling deeply. The room smells like weed immediately and Jasper exhales thick white smoke with a giddy smile on his face.

“This is some good shit,” he says, and his smile is infectious. “Want some help?” he asks Raven, next in the circle, who nods and encourages a demonstration.

When the bong finally reaches Monty, Miller can’t stop staring. He watches Monty’s nimble fingers as they strike the lighter, the way his mouth fits into the neck of the bong, the cool composure he has about all of it. When he exhales a puff of smoke Miller can’t even deny that he’s turned on. Monty motions him closer murmuring for a shotgun, and Miller nods.

“Unfair,” Octavia points out, “Monty gets two hits every time he shotguns for Miller.”

“I’ll skip my next,” Monty promises with a smile. “Should’ve blown my first one, sorry.” He takes another big hit and tugs Miller closer. Monty’s hand curves around Miller’s cheek and Miller opens his mouth, ready to inhale Monty’s smoke. They’re so close that Miller can practically feel Monty’s mouth, a tease of a kiss just a chin-tip away, and he breathes in deeply. “Hold it, hold it,” Monty tells him, reaching up to cover Miller’s mouth with a goofy grin.

Monty passes the bong back to Jasper, completing the circle, and Miller finally has to exhale. “Okay, okay,” he rasps, and Monty grins. He tugs Miller close and kisses him once before pulling back.

“Alright?” Monty asks, and Miller nods. “You’ll need more than that if you want to feel it,” he tells him. They watch as Jasper milks the bong for Raven a second time, pulling the smoke into the chamber without actually inhaling, and Monty nudges. “I can do that for you,” he says. “It won’t be a big hit if you don’t want.”

Miller considers this before wrinkling his nose. “Not yet,” he says. He’s interested in it all but he’d rather shotgun a few times before taking a real hit.

The afternoon drags on and Miller watches as his friends get more and more baked. He shotguns a few times, Monty’s mouth close to his as he inhales the smoke he blows out. Miller’s caught between wanting to tug Monty closer and kiss him or focusing on getting as much smoke as he can.

But finally Miller nods to Monty, motioning for a hit.

Monty grins. “Really?”

“Miller’s gonna take a hit!” Octavia whoops.

Monty lowers the bong before milking it for Miller and tugs his boyfriend toward him. “This is gonna be so freaking hot,” Monty murmurs against Miller’s mouth, kissing him once before pulling back. Miller rolls his eyes fondly and bites back his smile as Monty gets it ready.

Miller isn’t really paying enough attention, honestly kind of nervous about putting his mouth on the bong (because that makes him a Real Criminal instead of just someone in the presence of criminals (and okay, he shoplifted a bit when he was a teenager, but this feels different somehow). So he doesn’t notice that Monty is filling the chamber with _a lot_ of smoke.

“Monty!” Jasper yells with a laugh. “You’re going to _kill_ the guy!”

Monty pulls back. “Oh--crap.” He holds his hand over the chamber and looks toward Miller. “I forgot it was just for you,” he says quickly, his eyes a little too wide. “You don’t have to take the whole hit, holy crap, Nate.” Octavia’s laughing so hard she’s doubled over on herself. “It’s like, it’s a huge hit,” Monty says, passing the bong in Miller’s direction. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” Monty rambles on. “Jasper’s right, you might die if you take this whole hit.”

“Like, physically?” Miller asks.

“Um,” Monty pauses. “Babe,” Monty starts again, his mouth curling into a smile. “If you manage this whole hit…” he trails off.

“That’s a Monty Green level hit,” Jasper says, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “If you manage that whole thing then you’ve bypassed every level of smoker there is and just jumped right in with the experts.”

“Do it!” Raven encourages.

“Again with the physical death,” Miller says.

“If you wait too long the hit’ll get stale,” Jasper says.

“Not, like, _real_ death,” Monty says.

That’s good enough for him.

Miller has pretty good lungs, thanks to the fact that he goes to the gym daily and runs laps all the time. So to _him_ it’s not surprising that he takes the whole hit. But Jasper and Monty are both gaping at him, and Octavia’s still laughing so hard that she isn’t breathing. Miller can’t hold it in his lungs as long as he’d like to but finally he exhales the smoke.

Miller tries not to cough but it climbs out of him, anyway. His throat feels dry and his eyes are burning and he tries not to cough again. Monty’s warned him against it before (“If you start coughing you won’t _stop_ so just try, try, try not to cough it’ll go away I swear.”) and so he swallows hard. Still, a cough escapes him and he tips his head away, passing the bong onto Jasper who’s still looking at him like he’s a fucking king.

“Jesus. Christ,” Monty exhales. Miller coughs again, looking toward his boyfriend through his lashes. “Holy crap, Nate.” Monty reaches out and cups Miller’s cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. Miller pulls back to cough, murmurs a _sorry_ , and Monty just keeps on kissing him. On his cheek, on his chin. “I’m so annoyingly attracted to you right now,” Monty breathes, referencing a conversation Miller remembers fondly.

“What’s that say about you?” Miller wonders with a little smile, still trying to swallow back his coughs. “That watching me take a hit is attractive to you?”

“Probably that I’m a _little_ screwed in the head,” Monty says, still nestling closer. “But oh well. It was a _massive hit_.”

Miller takes another hit when the bong comes around again (not as big, so he doesn’t end up coughing), and then another, and then Monty teaches him how to milk it himself so he can take as big a hit as he wants.

By the time they run out, Miller’s feeling… something. He isn’t sure when it happens but one moment he’s fine and the next he turns his head to look at Monty feeling the world physically slow around him. His eyes dart from one place to the next. _I’m definitely not high_ , Miller thinks to himself, which was a blatant lie. Which he vocalizes.

“I’m not high,” he says.

Raven snorts. Octavia looks like she’s going to double over in laughter again.

“I didn’t smoke enough,” Miller continues, wondering when his tongue got so heavy in his mouth. He turns to poke Monty but his arms feel heavy too, like they’re supremely comfortable where they are and there’s no point in lifting them. “You said I had to smoke a lot to get high.”

“Babe,” Monty says softly, “you smoked _a lot_.”

Miller blinks a few times. “Oh.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Jasper says with a grin. “Raven,” he points at the girl across the room. “This is your first time getting high too, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she answers.

“I have the best song for this,” Jasper says. Monty reaches out and twines his fingers with Miller’s and the feeling that creeps up Miller’s arm is so tangible and warm that Miller has to look at his arm to make sure nothing’s actually there. Monty lifts their hands and kisses Miller’s knuckles once with a smile.

“Don’t worry, Nate,” Monty says softly. “I’ll take care of you.”

“That sounds _super_ ominous,” Miller points out. “Also, I’m not high.”

Monty kisses his knuckles again. “Okay,” he says with a little smile.

Jasper cheers, “Found it!”

Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” (the remastered version) starts playing through a speaker Miller can’t see. It starts slow but it feels so, so, _so_ out of place that Miller can’t stop the smile that creeps onto his face. He looks to Monty again, finding his boyfriend biting back a grin.

“What’s happening,” Miller states, not even asking as a question. Monty starts moving his shoulders back and forth with the song as it picks up speed and Miller’s smile is growing. “Montgomery Green,” Miller says.

Monty barks out a laugh. “My name is _not_ Montgomery. How dare you.”

 _Don’t stop me now_ _  
__I’m having such a good time_  
_I’m having a ball_

 _Don’t stop me now_ _  
If you wanna have a good time_  
_Just give me a caaall_

The song is so infectiously happy that Miller doesn’t think twice about his wide grin. He laughs as Jasper sings along, holding up his phone like it’s a microphone and nearly doubles over like Octavia had earlier when Monty starts serenading him, too.

 _I’m burning through the sky_ _  
__Yeah!_ _  
__Two hundred degrees_  
_That’s why they call me Mister Fahrenheiiiit_

When the song ends Miller, again, decides that he isn’t high. But he is and he knows it. Because his legs are twitching to the beat and he can’t stop thinking about this one poem he read last week, the same line on repeat in his brain like it’s at the bottom of a news broadcast, and no matter how many times he tells himself that this isn’t funny, this situation isn’t funny, sitting in Clarke’s basement with his boyfriend and some of his best friends isn’t funny, Miller can’t stop thinking that it’s funny.

“I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen Miller smile this much,” Jasper says with awe in his voice as a new song comes on, which only makes Miller’s smile grow. He presses his lips together tightly to keep himself from grinning but soon everyone is looking at him and he can’t wipe the smile from his face. He feels Monty squeeze his knee once and turns to find him smiling too. “How do you feel?” Jasper asks. “Are you baked yet?”

Miller opens his mouth to say _no_. Absolutely not. Because he’s not, he’s seriously not. Miller is completely not-baked. The opposite of baked. No eggs and flour necessary. Never. But instead a giggle escapes him.

“Oh my _Goddd_ ,” Octavia drags out. “Did you just _giggle_?”

“Amazing,” Jasper says, that hitch still in his voice. “Monty, have you ever noticed how long your boyfriend’s eyelashes are? I’ve definitely said something about them before. They’re so _long_.”

“I’d kill for Miller’s eyelashes,” Octavia hums.

And then suddenly Miller’s having trouble focusing on everyone’s words considering Monty’s hand is still on his knee. His entire attention wants to hone in on the boy beside him. His soft smile, his heavy eyes, his warm lips. Monty’s looking at Miller as though he’s made of stardust and for maybe the first time in a long time, Miller feels like he is. Monty’s thumb rubs circles on Miller’s knee but he isn’t breaking their gaze either. The conversation continues between Octavia and Raven and Jasper but Miller can’t look away from Monty.

“Wow, I want you,” Miller manages to get out, his smile threatening to break his face in half.

“You have me,” Monty responds softly. He seems entranced by Miller’s smile, just like everyone else had been moments ago, but Monty isn’t looking away like they had. “You sure feeling okay, Nate?”

“Oh, definitely,” Miller tells him. Fine, fine, he’s high. He’s super high. What’s that expression? High as a kite. Definitely. “Are you okay? How do you feel? God, I have so many words.”

Monty grins in a way that’s so fond that Miller’s mind runs blank. “How do I feel?” Monty repeats. “I feel great. Relaxed. Happy. What kind of words do you have?”

Miller opens his mouth to tell him, but his mind’s still blank. He licks his lips. “I forgot,” he says, causing Monty to laugh. “No, I swear. I had them. Baby,” Miller reaches out and cups Monty’s cheek, tugging him up so he has to look at Miller. “Stop laughing at me!”

“You’re so freaking cute,” Monty says with a grin. “I’m not laughing, I swear.”

“Okay. You are. But anyway.” Monty is _very clearly_ trying not to laugh again but Miller’s already speaking. “I had _a lot_ of words. But then you smiled and they left.”

“They left?” Monty echoes, and Miller nods. “Where’d they go?” Miller shrugs. Makes a vague noise. God, Monty’s cute. He’s got these dimples when he smiles super big, which he has now because he’s been smiling for the past for however how long they’ve been here, and he really does look relaxed. And he’s so cute, so cute, so cute. “What are you thinking about now?” Monty asks.

Miller knows it’s probably a trick. The sort of Let’s See What Nathan Miller Thinks About When He Gets High For The First Time sort of trick. But joke’s on Monty, because--

“I can’t think about anything but you,” he admits, and Monty’s smile grows. Monty looks away, down at the bong and then back at his boyfriend. “But that’s not new,” Miller says.

“Stop it,” Monty laughs.

“I feel like I say it all the time, so you have to know, right? How much I _want_ you?”

Monty licks his lips and nods. “You do say it a lot.” And then he pauses. “Do I say it enough? How much I want _you_?” Miller manages a shrug and Monty scoots closer, basically draping himself over Miller’s lap. He leans in close enough that Miller can feel Monty’s breath on his neck. “I want you,” Monty whispers by the stretch of skin just under Miller’s ear. It sends a shiver down his spine. Even smushed together, Monty feels too far away. “Nathan Miller,” he murmurs, “I haven’t ever felt like this about anyone else, how I feel about you.”

“How’s that?” Miller manages.

Monty smiles, and Miller can’t see it but he can feel it. Monty presses a light kiss to that same spot, just below his ear. The warmth of it feels infinite, spreading through every inch of Miller’s body. He turns to face Monty then, their noses bumping as he waits for Monty’s response.

“It’s… impossible,” Monty tells him. “I’m always--there are always words for things. But not for this, not for how I feel.”

Miller tips his chin back then so he can kiss Monty but his brain is hazy and it’s not working. “My mouth is being lazy,” Miller murmurs. Monty laughs softly and bends in, kissing Miller firmly. “That’s better,” he says, and Monty laughs again. And then Monty kisses Miller’s jaw, and his throat, and the nape of his neck, and tugs Miller until he’s collapsed against Monty’s chest.

“You’re funny,” Monty tells him as Miller wraps his arm around Monty’s waist, burying into his side the best he can. “I’m keeping you.”

Miller’s mind tumbles through thought after thought. He wants to write them down, the way his brain is twisting and turning. It might make some sort of beautiful poem if enunciated, and Miller likes beautiful poems. This one is full of hazy basements and impossible warmth and Monty, Monty, Monty.

When his eyelids start to feel heavy Monty moves, pulling Miller down so they’re lying side by side on the couch. Jasper’s changed the music to some Spotify playlist about magic and Miller can feel it humming in the air, humming in his veins. Monty nudges his nose against Miller’s and smiles.

“Okay?” Monty asks again, and Miller nods. Monty bends in to kiss him and pulls back, still smiling.

There’s nothing else to say, but that’s okay. Miller feels like this look that they share, with quiet smiles and hopeful eyes, says it all.


	7. August

****They’re not even close to the fire, so Miller knows that the warmth that’s spreading across his chest has everything to do with Monty. He tips his head to look at the boy beside him, ending up with an earful of grass, and smiles lazily. Monty’s still staring up at the sky. It’s a clear night and the stars are fantastic and Monty is wide-eyed. But Miller’s seen enough stars for his lifetime, and he could spend the rest of his summer (the rest of _forever,_ it feels) laying in this field beside Monty.

There’s distant laughter from their friends, the hiss of a beer-can being popped open, the crackle of the logs that Lincoln keeps adding to the pile, but none of it’s enough to distract Miller from Monty. Being with him is so easy that sometimes it feels impossible.

He must finally sense that Miller’s looking at him because he turns his head, meeting Miller’s eyes. Monty’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “Okay?” he asks.

“Always,” Miller answers gently. Monty reaches out and tangles their fingers together. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Space,” Monty answers. A smile of his own finds Miller’s face and he dips his head forward as if to encourage Monty to elaborate. “There’s this theory,” Monty says, turning more to look at him. “And it says that universe is always expanding, you know? Which is like, true. It is. But this theory says that when it reaches a certain point the universe is just going to reset itself.”

Miller allows himself a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the crazy part.” Monty rolls onto his back again so he can look at the sky. “The crazy thing this theory proposes is that _it’s already happened_.”

“What, the universe resetting?”

“Mm-hm.”

Miller squeezes Monty’s hand before asking, “Do you believe it?”

“Do I believe that the universe has already reset itself…” Monty repeats the question, trailing off with a hum. “Maybe. I mean there’s no proof that it hasn’t.”

“Do you think it repeats itself, then?” Miller asks. “The same… combustion, or whatever? If it’s resetting do you think that the universe does exactly the same thing, or something new?”

“I hope it’s the same,” Monty answers without pause.

That intrigues Miller. He inches closer so their arms are pressed together. “Why’s that?” Miller asks.

“Because if it happens and resets and happens and resets,” Monty says, looking back to him, “then there’s always going to be a Nathan Miller and a Monty Green that end up right here, like this.” Miller holds Monty’s gaze for a soft moment before Monty adds, “And every Nathan Miller and Monty Green that exists deserves a moment like this.”

Miller _wants_ so much that he aches.

He arches up, hand curving around Monty’s cheek so he can kiss him with ease. Monty smiles into the kiss and Miller tries to remember the last time he felt so content. He stops trying to remember anything except what’s happening when Monty’s the one who turns, pushing Miller so he’s flat on his back and Monty’s above him. Miller has to strain his next to kiss Monty, as though Monty’s intentionally holding himself just an inch too far away and he wants Miller to chase him with his lips.

Their kisses are languid and their bodies humming from the blunt they smoked earlier. There’s no rush here and Miller’s grateful that there doesn’t have to be. He could kiss Monty every which way forever, but like this, as though it’s the easiest thing either of them has ever done, is one of his favorite ways. Miller isn’t sure how long they’re out in the grass before their presence by the fire is missed.

But soon enough Murphy’s voice carries over to them in the dark. “Hey, lovebirds!” Murphy calls. “You ever coming to join us?”

“Mmf,” Miller groans, collapsing on the ground beside. “Fuck off, Murphy!” Miller calls back. Murphy’s responding laugh is distant, and then so is a few of their friends, but Miller only pays attention to the soft chuckle that escapes the boy next to him. Miller tips his head to look at his boyfriend and smiles, and Monty smiles back. “I don’t want to,” Miller says.

“What, go back?” Monty asks.

“Yeah.”

“Me neither,” Monty admits.

They’re quiet for a moment, watching one another under the endless summer night sky. This moment in general feels languid, but in a way which makes Miller ache with love and happiness. He’d do anything the universe wanted for an endless number of nights like this with Monty.

“I haven’t kissed anyone other than him in years,” Miller murmurs after they’re quiet for a long time. He can still taste Monty on his tongue, and it’s Monty he wants to spend the rest of his life tasting. And it’s Monty that Miller wants to tell this to. “But kissing you…” he trails off, stopping when Monty smirks. “What’s that face?”

“Raven said you made out with Bellamy once.”

Miller tips his head back in a laugh. “That was different. It was a dare. Bryan was _there_. I didn’t _want_ him. Not the way I…”

Monty’s eyebrows lift slightly as a smirk takes his face. “Oh, no, don't stop there,” he says with a little wave. “Please. Continue talking about how much you want me.”

But it’s more than want, in a way. It’s longing. It’s the deeply rooted desire to lace his fingers with Monty’s, to tangle their legs together, to climb on top of him and merge into one.

“Mmf. We’re always talking about want,” Miller murmurs. He turns again, closer to his boyfriend, kissing Monty’s chin a few times rapidly. “Want, want, want.” Monty sighs, the sound so wonderful that Miller’s chest feels like it’s full of fire. “God, I _need_ you.”

“Come _here_ ,” Monty says, tugging Miller firmly and crashing their lips back together. “You’re coming home with me tonight,” Monty rasps and Miller groans. “Need,” he echoes breathlessly, and hearing his voice like this (rough and raw and _needy_ ) is making Miller sweat. “I’ll tell you a little bit about _need_ , Nathan Miller.”

“Baby,” Miller pleads for more, his hands desperate and unable to settle. He knows they should get back to their friends but rolling around in the grass with Monty is so much more appealing.

“I need to know what you taste like,” Monty rasps into Miller’s ear. “Need to know what you feel like in my hands. My mouth.” Miller moans as Monty sucks hard against his skin. “Need to wake up next to you, need to know every noise you make.” Miller swallows back a whine. “Need to know everything about you. How you like it, where you like it best.”

“ _Monty_ ,” Miller croaks. “Jesus _Christ_.”

“How to make you feel good, better.” They’re leaving this bonfire immediately. “Need you, I need you, _too_ , Nate.” 


	8. September

****Monty rolls over and beneath him, the pillow crackles. He’s barely awake, but he knows what that sound means, a grin stretching over his face as he lifts his head, still heavy with sleep, and grabs at the torn sheet of notebook paper beneath him.

On his back, he holds it above him and sees Miller’s neat, impeccable handwriting, transcribing half-poetry, half-practicality:

 _“_ _Still I get out of bed and say_ **_magic_ ** _/ because there are trees outside my window / and somehow that means you and I / get to keep on breathing here together for a while.”_

_Out on a run; will be back with breakfast around 11. Text if you want something specific_

Monty feels like his face will burst apart with the force of his grin, and he presses the paper to his face as though to breathe Miller’s words in, as if they themselves are magic, as if he can ingrain them on his soul.

It’s something that they started, last May, the first night they fell asleep together and one that Miller, on the weekends, has decided to keep up, now that they’re back at school. Unless he’s hungover, Miller will always get up earlier than Monty and go running and bring back breakfast. He always starts his notes with a fragment of a poem, a wonderful one, full of hope and light and love, and Monty can’t believe, even now, that this wonderful boy is _his_.

Monty gropes around for his phone; he wants to look up the poem, as he always does ( _Juliet,_ he learns, by Sarah Certa), and he _does_ want something specific for breakfast, but, he’s also thought of something he read in his contemporary lit class last semester (or was it the internet? Eh, nearly the same thing--) and that’s the perfect thing to send back to Miller:

 **_From Monty - 10:34 AM_ ** **_  
_ ** **_“Do me a favor this morning. Draw the curtain and come back to bed./ Forget the coffee. We’ll pretend/ we’re in a foreign country, and in love.”_ **

**_jk, I do want coffee. and waffles. but come back soon :)_ **

Monty throws an arm over his eyes, still grinning, when his phone vibrates a minute later.

 ** _From Nate ♥ - 10:36 AM_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Quoting Raymond Carver to me? How’d a guy get so lucky?_ **

**_From Monty - 10:37 AM_ ** **_  
_ ** **_because said guy is bringing his BF waffles and coffee, that’s how :D_ **

**_From Nate ♥ - 10:38 AM_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Alright, baby, I see how it is. But yes, I’ll be back soon with coffee (and waffles). I showered at the gym so I can get right back in bed… and minimal pretending will be involved._ **

If Monty thought he was going to explode with happiness before, it was nothing compared to what he feels now. It isn’t a declaration of love, by any means, but it’s _close_. It is so much more than Monty could’ve hoped for. Miller isn’t there, yet, to either feel that love or to articulate it, but Monty understands that this is a promise: he’s in it for the long haul; he’s going to get there. Soon.

Buoyed by that thought, Monty stretches, before reluctantly leaving the bed to go brush his teeth. He wanted to stay in bed and wait for Miller, but he also wants, more than anything, to make out once Miller gets back, and he, being the considerate guy he is, refuses to subject his hot, considerate, poetic boyfriend to morning breath.

He’s just climbed back into bed, mouth crescent fresh, when Miller comes in, having swiped Monty’s keys as he left. He’s carrying a coffee carrier with two paper cups and balancing two carry out containers. Monty smells waffles and whipped cream and strawberries: his favorite.  

“Hey, lazy bones,” Miller grins, looking relaxed and refreshed and _his_. “For a while there I thought you would still be sleeping when I got back.”

“And miss out on my two favorite things, you and breakfast?” Monty scoffs, already reaching for the coffee. “Don’t be crazy.”

“Ah ah ah,” Miller says, holding both out of reach. “Don’t I deserve a reward first?” Monty grins, pushing himself higher on the bed as Miller leans down. Their lips touch, a soft kiss. A good morning. The coffee is forgotten. “Hi,” Miller whispers, his eyelashes brushing Monty’s cheekbones, his stubble rough and raspy against his skin.

“Hi,” Monty says, pressing his fingers to the side of Miller’s neck, his thumb on Miller’s pulse. “I really like this.”

“Hmm?” Miller sets the breakfast down, carefully, on the desk next to Monty’s bed, toeing off his shoes, and Monty is already scooting closer to the wall, covers thrown back, welcoming Miller in. “Me bringing breakfast to you every Sunday?”

Monty shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Yeah, but I like _this_ ,” he says, as Miller’s arms come around him. “Lazy weekend mornings. Poetry on my pillow.” He cradles Miller’s face in his hands. “Us.”

“Me, too,” Miller says, tangling their legs together under the sheets. “I--I can’t believe it sometimes. That we’re here, like this.”

Monty looks at him, carefully. He’s not quite sure how to take Miller’s tone. “What do you mean?”

Miller’s lips quirk up, and he’s leaning forward, brushing a kiss against Monty’s cheek. “Nothing bad,” he says. “It’s just-- how do I explain this?”

“You tell me,” Monty says, feeling warmer, reassured. “ _You’re_ the English major. The poet.”

Miller thinks for a moment. “A poem might convey it better, although-- _this_ poem might not make perfect sense,” he says, “and the context is-- well, it doesn’t quite fit. But in a way, I think it _does_ , somehow. Richard Siken’s like that, sometimes.”

“Tell me,” Monty says, softly, sinking further into their cocoon, this intimate place they’ve created between sunshine and shadow, between sleep and awake, between just them two.

“I sleep,” Miller quotes. “I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly. The trees in wind, the streetlights on, the click and flash of cigarettes being smoked on the lawn, and just a little kiss before we say goodnight.” He pauses, gives Monty a soft kiss.

Monty returns it, despite his confusion. His brow furrows as Miller pulls back. “I don’t...?”

Miller shakes his head. He’s not done yet. “It spins like a wheel inside you,” he whispers, like a secret. “Green yellow, green blue,” he says, dark eyes looking into Monty’s, “green _beautiful_ green.”

Monty can feel his whole body flush.

“It’s simple,” says Miller, one hand coming up, thumb brushing Monty’s cheekbone tenderly. “It isn’t over; it’s just begun. It’s green. It’s still _green_.”

Monty’s throat feels tight. His entire body is thrumming with love and understanding. “Nate, I--”

Miller kisses him, then, deeply, clutching at Monty tightly, and it’s all Monty can do but kiss him back, hold him closer, as though he can pour love into this boy he adores, this boy he’s chosen to love and fight for, this boy who’s chosen to fight for him, too. It’s been a long road for them both, but Monty wouldn’t have it any other way.

Monty and Miller lose themselves in each other, in this morning, in this life they’ve created together, and Monty knows, without a doubt, that whatever happens next, they’ll be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for joining us on our crazy journey -- we hope you loved it just as much as we do!


End file.
